


into the dark stretch

by noctiphany



Series: little beasts [91]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Knifeplay, M/M, age gap, tiny psycho bart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 00:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18680161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany
Summary: “I want toplay, Max.”





	into the dark stretch

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [stretch this shaking mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8611171) by [noctiphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany). 



> Hey, kids. Don't try this at home.

Max is trying to concentrate on the crossword puzzle in his hands, but the continuous _flick-snip-flick_ of the butterfly knife Bart keeps flipping back and forth between his fingers is driving him crazy. 

“Bart,” he says, measured. “Try one of the puzzles I gave you.”

“I did them all,” Bart says, tossing the book at Max. “They’re boring. I’m _bored_.”

“You did them --” Max starts, flipping through the pages, and sure enough, every puzzle’s been filled out. Let it never be said that Bart isn’t a special boy. 

“I want to go somewhere,” Bart whines, flipping the blade around his hand and stabbing it into the nightstand. They’re in a motel off route ninety-four and Max has definitely seen better pay-by-the-hour rooms. He’s in as much of a hurry to get moving as Bart is, but they’re waiting on a call. “I want to _play_ , Max.”

“I know you do,” Max says, plucking the pencil from between his teeth and using it to fill in a six letter word for _impress,_ looking up in time to see Bart using his the tip of his knife to cut into the palm of his hand and watch the blood drip down his wrist. Max finishes writing _dazzle_ in the box, then closes his book and sighs. “Fine.”

He unbuttons his shirt as he walks over to the bed, kicking his shoes off, then sits down on the bed next to Bart. As soon as his back hits the headboard Bart pounces on him, all ninety pounds of him landing on top of Max’s thighs and grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. 

He drags his fingers over the scars he’s left before, initials and designs and some that weren’t anything at all -- just marks he left when he needed to smell blood in the air. “I thought you said --?”

“You’ve been good,” Max says, shrugging out of his shirt the rest of the way, and Bart doesn’t waste another moment before going to work.

Max doesn’t even notice the sting of the first cut, just watches Bart’s pupils grow and grow, watches him pull his bottom lip between teeth and hears the little noise he makes in the back of his throat at the first sight of blood on his blade. 

When Bart gets like this, once he’s gone, there’s no way to pull him back, so Max just lets his head fall back against the wall, closes his eyes, and lets him work. Bart chatters to him sometimes, tells him what he’s writing or what he’s going to draw next, but this time he’s quiet and still, so focused on the task at hand that Max feels a surge of pride. 

“You’re doing good,” he says, breath hitching when the blade cuts a little too deep for him to hold back, and Bart’s eyes flick up to meet his, black as night, but somehow ten times brighter than the day. Then Bart just reaches out and grabs Max’s face, fingertips smeared with Max’s blood because he still hasn’t quite learned how not to be messy. He presses his fingers into Max’s cheekbones and traces the shape of his face, the line of his jaw, smears blood across Max’s mouth when he drags his fingers over it, takes in the sight of him for a long, lingering moment, then simply curls up against Max’s side, head on his chest, and falls sound asleep. 

After Max is certain Bart’s asleep, he picks the knife up off the bed and closes it, sets it on the nightstand next to them, being careful not to wake him, and looks at the clock. They should be getting the call from Wally in an hour or two.

Until then, Max thinks, pressing a kiss to the top of Bart’s head, _sweet dreams._


End file.
